


A Cut above the Rest

by foreverHenry919



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Fluff and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9238322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverHenry919/pseuds/foreverHenry919
Summary: Henry Morgan has held many jobs in his long life. Some less enjoyable than others.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own "Forever" or any of its characters.

Dr. Henry Morgan has held many different jobs during his 200 plus years on God's green earth. Gravedigger, singing waiter, portrait photographer (all the while, doing his best to remain behind the camera) gold miner, horse trainer, magician, and, at different times, a vendor of ice, fruit and fish. These oddly matched occupations afforded a decent wage during times when he'd sought anonymity after his secret of immortality had been exposed. He was neither overly proud of any of these occupations that lay outside the realm of his usual profession of physician, nor was he ashamed of them. Some had been more exciting than others, but he had gained valuable insight from all of them.

1939, Nice, France...

His current profession found him at the foot of the Alps, in the French Riviera, south east coast of France. Although it was a quaint and enjoyable setting, pleasing to the eye and pallet, his work was demanding. After only six months, he'd begun to plan his exit from what he'd unexpectedly found to be drudgery. The people he serviced were overly obsessed with themselves, quick to avail themselves of his services but slow in compensating him for same. He was hailed master at his profession, a true artist and the moneyed and pampered masses sought him out at an exhausting rate.

He stood at his wash basin in his small living space and splashed cold water on his tired, unsmiling face. A quick glance in the mirror told him that if anything could age him, it would be this job. Then, a quick glance down at the gleaming tools of his trade and up to the various jars, bottles and tubes that contained both the expected, standard concoctions and mixtures of his own design. The woman in the outer room has been particularly demanding this afternoon. This was not her first visit and her condition required several more treatments before a positive result could be obtained.

"Monsieur Henri." It was his young assistant and apprentice, Aleron, on the other side of his door. "Pardon, mais la Madame, elle est très insistante et en grand besoin de votre aide." (Pardon, but the Madam, she is very insistent and in dire need of your help).

Henry sighed and dried his hands and face. "Un instant, s’il vous plaît." (One moment, please). He grabbed his tools and a few of the jars and bottles and opened the door. Aleron looked anxiously at him and when Henry nodded, the young man walked quickly back into the outer room to the impatient woman in question. Henry followed at a slower pace, dreading another interaction with the eternally unsatisfied woman. Of course, he couldn't blame her ill temperament. If he had her problem --- problems --- he supposed he'd be on the rant with everyone else, too.

As he walked up to her and looked down at her, the woman tensed in an effort to hold back her tears. The gentle approach today was in order, he saw. He grimly laid his tools out on a nearby table. He nodded to Aleron, who dutifully loosened the tops of the various containers his brilliant Henri had chosen to use, and stepped back. Henry placed a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder and she finally leaned back and closed her eyes. He always knew just how to calm her fears before these terrible treatments that obviously had done little for her ... condition. Her voice waivered a bit as he patiently listened to her current woes and expectations. At least she spoke English well enough so that it allowed him to communicate with her more easily. He nodded once when she'd finished and grabbed one of the jars. The woman closed her eyes, satisfied that she was in the best of hands.

Henry poured some thick, yellowish liquid from one of the jars onto her hair and massaged it in with his free hand. "Blonde, it is, then. And a modern cut afterwards."

"And you're sure that I'll be as lovely as that American actress?" she warbled.

"Just as lovely, I assure you," he dryly answered as he rubbed the liquid into her hair and exchanged grimaced looks of doubt with his assistant, Aleron. "People will mistake you for her."

Aleron nearly choked trying to contain his laughter.

"Oh, do you think? Oh, thank you, Henri. I've told all of my friends about you. You have just the right touch, just the right ..."

Henry occasionally grunted a response as she droned on and on. Yes, he was going to pack his bags tonight. He'd rather be in the military and dodge Nazi bullets than spend one more day in lovely Nice, France, as a bloody hairdresser!

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just another little story that banged around in my head until I emptied it onto paper (cyberspace paper).


End file.
